Don't Stop Praying

>> Wednesday, November 9, 2016

I stayed up past my bedtime last night.  Way past.  I had voted, but more than that, I had prayed. Weeks ago a nationwide call had gone out for Christians to pray for one minute every day at 8:00 pm Central Time. I set an alarm on my iPhone. Sometimes it went off in unusual places and I had some explaining to do.

But I prayed faithfully for the election, for our country. I quoted a scripture.

“If my people, who are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.”  2 Chronicles 7:14 (ASV)

During the evening, I deleted that alarm. The election was happening. I canceled my prayer time. How wrong that was. This morning I set my alarm again. Why would I quit praying now?

We have a new President Elect. It may not be the one you wanted. But he needs our prayers as he steps into a totally different role in his life. The world is watching us. I can’t even begin to understand the pressure on him.

I’m not into politics.  It certainly looks like a lot of hard work. And because you can’t please all of the people all of the time, a politician is always in trouble with someone. And so I pray for wisdom for Donald Trump, that he will surround himself with people of high integrity who can help bring our nation together. 

Jesus is still Lord. 


Guest Writer Jan Ackerson

>> Friday, November 4, 2016

I first met Jan Ackerson years ago at a Faithwriter’s Conference in Livonia, Michigan. I was a novice and she was the guru. During a private critique of my work, she spoke softly and gently defused my anxiety. I left that session with confidence that I could, indeed, some day be a writer.

Below is one of the stories featured in her new book. Each story is exactly 100 words in length, yet encompasses a complete tiny story.


There was still one basket left to hang on the clothesline, and Michelle’s arms ached. She was reaching for a pair of jeans when the ground started to rumble. Earthquake, she thought, and she knelt and placed her palms on the ground as if to stop it.

It was not an earthquake. Dozens—perhaps hundreds—of motorcycles came roaring past her yard, many with two riders, women with their arms loosely wrapped around the drivers’ waists. Some of the motorcyclists waved.

Michelle didn’t really want to go with them—but she wanted to be the type of girl who would.


If you enjoy tiny little stories like this, you can find 366 of them in
Stolen Postcards, available here: offreairpr- 20&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=1922135399&linkId=ca1b70eb 7d88fc4aaa1b9678a29556b7

You can also read new 100-words stories on Mondays and Fridays on my blog:

Follow me on Twitter: @janackerson1

Or on Instagram: janackerson


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